


A Love Match

by FranTastic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Historical, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:15:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3945049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FranTastic/pseuds/FranTastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spinster heiress had always been told that a marriage based on love is the one to aim for. A Scottish nobleman travels to Boston to find himself a wife. Love had not been part of his plan. <br/>Through family pressure and misunderstandings they find themselves married.  Upon their return to his country manor, could they end up a love match after all?</p><p>Inspired by the short story "Miracle" by Brenda Joyce</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the run

Storybrooke, Maine-1904

She was freezing. She was in the middle of her family’s summer home in the middle of January and she was freezing.

Isobel French was hiding from her fiancé’, Lord Rhys Gold. She had run away 6 weeks ago, in the early morning hours after their engagement party. She had managed to grab all of the money from her father’s safe in the study downstairs, and stuff several scarves, hats, gloves and tights into her valise before sneaking away before the servants arose. She had fled to a friend’s house back in Boston first, but she quickly realized this was the first place her father and finance would look for her. 

She had gone to ground quickly after that-staying at hotels and flophouses that would have shocked her family and close friends if they had seen her. But she had to get away. She could not face being married to a man who did not love her. Running appeared to be the only option. 

She knew that many people married for position, status or money-but Belle had always been taught by her mother to dream of a love match. “Love is a rare thing. A many layered treasure that is worth waiting for.” She had refused to accept Gaston based upon that ideal years ago, and while her father had understood at the time, he had also made it very clear in the intervening years that he would not tolerate such an incident occurring again. The French family status was at stake now. Now that she was practically considered a spinster in her social circle, her father had been making sly comments that this was all due to her stubborn need for a love match.

“Just find someone of good standing that doesn’t revolt you and love will come.”

He had been pleased when Gold had started to court her, and she knew he would not be pleased with the current situation. Gold was clever as well, he would talk to her and try and fool her again. 

For the moment she wasn’t sure if he and her father had given up looking for her, but she didn’t dare risk writing to anyone until at least a few more weeks had passed. But when the money started to run out and with the full brunt of winter rolling in, she got desperate. She knew the family house in Maine would be shut up for winter and she wasn’t far from there. She’d have to scramble from the pantry for food, but at least she would have a roof over her head and she would be able to stay warm. She had used the last of the money to have a stranger give her a ride in his wagon to just outside the Storybrooke limits. She managed to walk from there.

She had never been to the house in Maine at any time other than the height of summer when the heat in Boston became overwhelming. She had known it would be cold, but she had no idea just how frigid it could get here. Ever since walking for several hours to get up to the house, she had struggled with getting warm. Even with several blankets wrapped around her, several pairs of woolen tights on her legs, gloves, and a hat -she was still shivering. She had managed to remove her sodden travelling boots, and wore thick woolen socks over her tights. Somehow she had managed to get her corset off and had stopped wearing it early on in her travels but had taken to wearing her dresses backwards. Normally her maid Ruby dealt with closing all the buttons up the back, but Belle had to practical. 

Not for the first time she was grateful that the staff had canned most of the summer garden and had left several jars behind. There were some preserved fish from the local cannery that kept her from starving, although she was still hungry. There were only a few candles in the larder, and she didn’t risk lighting them unless she absolutely had to. 

There were gaslights, but she was worried that would draw attention to the house. She would have lit the fire in the grand fireplace in the main room for warmth, but there was no wood. Belle wasn’t sure she would even know how to start a fire even if there had been. She could handle the cold, if it just bought her some more time. If she waited it out a few more weeks than Gold would give up and go back to Scotland and leave her poor broken heart in peace. Her reputation might never recover, but she didn’t care. How she hated him. How she hated herself for not being able to see through him.

It was the betrayal that made her shiver now. She had been in love with him, and thought he had loved her in return. She had been deceived, and now hid because of fear and sorrow. He had never loved her. Wiping away tears she felt foolish looking back at that now. She shivered while pulling the blankets tighter to try to go to sleep, and as she drifted off her chest ached with sadness.  
_________  
When she had first met him in her cousin Regina’s house, she had thought he was rather peculiar. Even without the deep Scottish brogue, he had a manner that was different then all the other men she had met in Boston. He was older than her, but that never bothered her. What made him unusual was the way that he had spoken to her. As if her opinion mattered, as if he respected her, as if he were actually listening. Had even their first meeting be a set up? A sham to get her attention. 

Normally she wouldn't have been inside her cousin’s house, but her cousin’s stepson Roland had been ill with the measles. Regina had never had the illness before and so had been sent away to Belle’s house for her own safety. Regina had worried about the boy being left behind with only nurses and maids to watch him. Roland knew the stories about his own mother Marian dying of illness and so was quite upset. Which meant that Regina was quite upset as well. For all her faults, she loved the boy as if he was her own. In the two weeks she had been at the French mansion she had started to drive everyone around her insane as she had asked for daily updates from her home. She had sent over their footman so often that he had been neglecting his other duties. 

“Robin is so busy with business that he’s not able to visit him as much as he would like. I know he’s worried after what happened with Marian, but even with a child’s illness a man’s world goes on.”

Regina’s husband was one of the most successful businessmen in Boston and Regina adored him. Belle had noticed that even as Regina had fretted, her hands were twisting her handkerchief into a tight knot. 

“I’m just so worried Belle! What if something happens to him? When I told him I was coming to your house for a few days, he asked me if he was going to die. I don’t think I could bear it, and even though he tries to put it out of his mind, I know Robin is in a panic as well.”

Seeing the strain on her cousin’s face, Belle made a decision. She had had the measles before, and had nothing to fear from being around the boy. Regina might not be her favorite relative, but she was quite fond of Roland. 

“Regina, if you don’t think Robin will object and if my father approves, I can go to your home and watch over Roland. Sending the servants over everyday across town is far too stressful for them and for you. I will make sure that you get twice daily updates. It will also be good for him to have someone around that is family. I can bring over some books and read to him. ”

Her cousin had hugged her so hard in that moment that she had been unable to breathe. 

Partly coming out of her dozing, she dimly noticed that it was getting darker outside the house. That explained the increasing temperature drop that had woken her up. Tucking her hands under the blanket, Belle curled up into a tighter ball to try and draw as much heat as she could into the space under the blankets and drifted back to her dream.  
______  
She had been at the house for less than a week when she had run into him. Literally run into him. Robin and Regina had both been so grateful to her for watching over Roland. At the moment, Robin had several business associates in the parlor along with her father, and so she had tried to stay out of the way. It was highly unusual to have a meeting with guests when a child as sick as Roland was in the house, but apparently there was important business that could not wait. As a precaution the maids had scrubbed the parlor, and only the staff that lived off property were tending to the gentlemen. 

The doctor had said that Roland was coming down from the contagious stage. His rash was fading, and his face no longer had that flushed look. He still asked for his mama frequently, and he was still very ill but there was less concern about him dying. Belle had taken reading to him after lunch before his afternoon nap. 

After Roland went off to sleep dreaming about knights and fairies, Belle had gone down to the kitchen to get herself a cup of tea, planning on resting in a sunny window in one of the sitting rooms for a few hours with her favorite book. She had let the maids make her daily cup when she first arrived but quickly found that their tea skills were severely lacking and so had taken to walking down to the kitchens to make a cup herself. Walking up from the kitchen with her full cuppa in her left hand and her book under her right, she heard the male voices coming from the parlor. When her father had entered he had nodded and walked by, merely taking a moment to kiss her cheek. The French shipping company lead the family fortunes for several generations now, and Maurice French vowed to ensure its continued success. She shook her head, and taking a quick sip of tea moved past the parlor and went to turn down another hallway. Only to walk into something solid. 

“What the….?”

She had nearly fallen on her backside from the rebound, but whoever she had run into had quickly reached out and grabbed her left elbow and kept her from falling. The tea cup she had been holding flew out of her grasp, and splashed tea over herself and what was clearly now a man before it hit the floor with a clang.

She looked down in horror at the tea staining the front of her dress, to the cup lying on the floor to the book lying in a puddle. Her eyes shot up to look in the face of the person in front of her.

“Oh! I am so sorry! I was just heading down to the library and wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He wasn't much taller that her. Normally she would have had to crane her neck to meet a man in the eye. He was a older gentleman and was wearing a black sack jacket, with a matching tie and trousers. If Belle had to guess she would have placed him in his mid-40’s. His long brown hair that was streaked with gray was quite out of fashion, but some how worked with his suit and with his face. His jacket was unbuttoned showing off his silk waist coat that was a mossy green that fit with the season. A waistcoat that currently had a growing tea stain. At the moment his eyes were closed in exasperation. 

“I would expect one of the Locksley house maids to be a bit more careful with where they are going dearie.”

Hearing the rich Scottish brogue for the first time made a tingle go up her spine, and Belle was just realizing her annoyance that this man thought she was a maid, when he opened his eyes and he looked at her. If she had thought him interesting before seeing his eyes made her realize that he was even more handsome than she had first thought. His hair framed his face in a way that made the angles of his face soften, particularly in regards to his longish nose. There were crinkles next to his very expressive eyes, which were a lovely shade of brown. As her took her in, she saw them rapidly soften from their initial flash of anger, to confusion that she was clearly not a servant, to amusement, to shock, to apology. He released her elbow as if she had burned him. 

“My apologies Mrs. Locksley. It was my understanding that the only ladies in the house at the moment were servants and one of extended family members. I had been told that you were staying with relations while young master Roland was ill. Please do allow me to assist with the mess. It appears as if your book is drenched in tea” He bent down to pick up the dropped tea cup and her book. 

She laughed at his overly formal language. Clearly he was embarrassed at thinking she was a maid. Especially if he thought she was Regina.

“You should not apologize sir. It was I that was walking too fast down the hallway. Especially with a full cup of tea. Although I am not Mrs. Locksley, but in fact her cousin. Miss Isobel French.”

He had just stood back up with her book and tea cup in hand. He appeared to be surprised at hearing her name, did he perhaps know her? There was some other emotion that passed across his face quickly before the polite mask slipped back into place, but even months later she had never been able to explain that expression. Perhaps it was happiness at realizing he had orchestrated their meeting. 

In her slumber on the couch in Maine, Belle grumbled and turned into the back cushions in frustration. 

“Ah yes, Miss French. I am familiar with your father from the club I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“It was an interesting one to make. Apparently I am either a maid or the lady of the house.” 

“Yes...well.” He looked about for a moment. “It is a mistake that anyone could make. Especially when one has their eyes closed.“

“You have also neglected to introduce yourself as you go barreling down hallways.”

Why was she teasing him? She wasn’t normally one to flirt, but it seemed to come naturally with him. He smirked at her. 

“One does not generally go about planning on introducing themselves to servants Miss French. I am Lord Gold of Carlyle.”

“Oh are we calling me servant again? And here I thought we had reached a understanding.”

That odd expression passed over his face again as she finished her remark. Based on the redness in his cheeks she had embarrassed him again. Moving he gave her a little bow and handed her book back to her. 

“I believe I will stop talking Miss French as I seem to keep saying the wrong thing. I do apologize for keeping you, you must be wanting to speak to a maid before the stain has a chance to set.”

Laughing softly she said, “Please do not apologize for the drink or my attire again. It is only tea after all. And fabric is easily mended” 

Frowning she looked down at the soggy book in her hand and sighed. “If anything I am more distressed about the book being ruined. Bleak House is one of my favorite novels and I had brought this copy from home. Your waist coat also appears to be worse for wear. I believe if you head to the parlor, Mr. Locksley can have you speak to his valet. Apparently he is quite talented.”

He had glanced down at his suit. Whether he was frowning at having a lady apologize to him several times when he had repeatedly called her a servant, at the stain, or in confusion at the idea of speaking to a valet she didn’t know. 

“That, Miss French, is an excellent suggestion. I will go and speak to Mr. Locksley now. The staff should bring you a new cup of tea and clean up the mess. This cup appears to be chipped during our....” That interesting flush was pinking his cheeks again “our ah...initial meeting.”

She shook her head while smiling at him.

“Thank you for taking the china away, but please do not trouble the staff. They are all talented girls I am sure, but not at making tea.” 

He smirked at this statement.  
“Yes well, I am of the opinion that seems to be the case with all serving girls in Boston. Apparently you all haven’t known what to do with tea since that tea party you had two hundred years ago.”

“Are you saying that Scottish servant tea making skills are far superior to ours?”

“They do have more years of practice and more discerning palettes generally yes.”

“Perhaps it is only poor luck while you have been in Boston. There surely must be at least one serving girl in Scotland that is a disaster with tea. ”

He had tilted his head as she spoke. “Perhaps. I have yet to find a worthy tea room in the city however.”

“Well, I will be sure to send you a note to share the good ones in the vicinity the Lord Gold. Although I will admit that I am loathe to share that information who has such a poor view of the Boston Tea Party. Perhaps you are here to take something away from us colonies again.”

Chuckling, she gazed at his face and noticed that his face was carefully blank. Stupid Belle. Didn't her father say she was too clever for her own good? First with the silly flirting, and now remarks about tea rooms. Who wanted to hear a woman talking American history and offering to send personal notes to a gentleman. The man must think her uncouth and forward.

“Thank you for your kindness Miss French, but I assure you that your colonies are quite safe from us Scotch nobleman. If you would excuse me, I must return to the meeting. I will not keep you. Please give my regards to young master Roland.”

And with another small bow he had walked off. They had spoken for less than two minutes, and Belle had already felt herself drawn to him. Conversation had flowed so easily she had forgotten all about the ‘rules’ of what was considered proper conversations between ladies and gentleman. 

Most men in her social circle would have been aloof as proprietary called for, but he had been quite frank and even quipped about the tea in Boston. Her former beau Gaston would have never smirked or joked about her being a maid-and would have frowned at her reading Dickens. Women who were well read were upsetting to Gaston. “They get such dangerous ideas in their silly little heads.”

Such was the case for many men. Robin was unique in how he treated Regina, but for the most part ladies were simply expected to run the household and go to all of the social events. Reading anything more than the society pages was quietly frowned upon by most matrons and their husbands. Exchanging even a small debate with a man alone in a hallway would be shocking for most of the French society set. 

Walking back to her rooms to talk to the maid about laying out a new day dress, Belle rolled her eyes at the thought of some of those society matrons. She was not looking forward to seeing all of them at Lady Jenkins’ charity ball at the end of next week. It was the big kick off of the social season, but Belle had always been bored at the event. At 25 years of age, she was now considered a spinster by nearly everyone present, and so no one paid her much attention. 

Most of the evening would be spent with Regina discussing the Whitney family’s eldest daughter and if she really thought wearing that dress suited her figure. Or wondering when Eric Prince would finally proposing to Ariel Triton. He had been making soft eyes and filling up her dance card at every ball. Ariel’s mother had murmured complaints about Eric’s tardiness since last season. Rounding the stairs to the guest quarters, she wondering if the strangely fascinating Lord Gold would be attending. Lady Jenkins wouldn't pass up the chance to invite a Scottish lord to her ball. She did have a daughter of her own to marry off, and a title would be too good to pass up.  
______

Stirring awake, Belle took a moment to take in her surroundings. The room had gone completely dark from the last time she had stirred, and while it was much colder she had managed to get some warmth as she slept. Feeling the familiar ache in her chest, tears filled her eyes. Here she had thought she would tell stories to her children about how their father had spilled tea all over her and thought she was a maid, but instead it was all a lie. He had never wanted her or loved her, only her money. When she had returned home later that week and saw that he had mailed a new copy of Bleak House to her father’s house with another note of apology, she had been touched by the gesture. Now she knew it was all a farce to get her to notice him. To get her to fall in love with him. How stupid she was. 

Standing up to go upstairs to bed, the wind began to howl. For a moment she thought of wolves.  
“Stop it Isobel Collette French. You know where are no wolves in this part of Maine. It’s just the wind.”

As her voice echoed in the silent room, she heard a banging noise and started. One of the shutters must have come loose. But as the banging increased as she tightened the blanket around her, she realized it was coming from the front entryway instead. Feeling panic rising up in her throat, she quietly stepped into the foyer. As she did, the door burst open. There were two men standing in the dim light and swirling wind, and as one of them stepped forward Belle recognized her fiancé’ at once. 

He had found her. There was no where left to hide.


	2. On the Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Gold makes his way to Maine

He was freezing. He had been traveling all over Boston and now was heading to the Maine seaside in the middle of winter and he was freezing.

Staring down at his leather gloves, he thought about how the bitter Maine wind still pierced through his thick woolen coat. He only hoped that Belle had dressed warmly and was safe at the French summer home. Hopefully her father’s guess that she would be running short on money was correct. As he sat back in his seat he could feel the cold seeping through his traveling boots.

His entire relationship with Belle had turned out to be a disaster. When he had come to America to find a rich wife, he had planned on find some rich bitter widow or homely spinster to marry him. Perhaps not from one of the more established society families like the Vanderbilts or the Astors, but from a respectable and wealthy one just the same. He had not expected to fall in love with a smart, witty, beautiful heiress that had a laugh that tinkled like china and a gaze that he felt in his very soul. Love had not been part of the plan.

He rubbed his hands over his face. This could all have been avoided if he had just been honest with her since the beginning. Or at any point during their courtship. Whereas most people expected marriage to be a practical affair, of course Belle would be a romantic and hope for a love match. The woman had an open caring nature, she would have understood. Or not. Perhaps that voice in the back of his head was right, no one could ever ever love him. The only thing he could offer her was a title. No devilish good looks or manners. She would hate his home back in Scotland when he took her there.

Carlyle Manor. He found himself longing for the smell of the earth, the feel of the rainy mist in his face. So far removed from the society of London, New York or even Boston, life was much less formal there.

“How much further do you think it is Dove?”

He had to strain to hear his driver, but he managed to make out that they were less than a hour away. He only hoped she hated him less than he hated himself.

________________________________________________________________  
The first time he had heard the name Isobel French had been at the local gentleman’s club. He had been talking with some of the members, when Maurice French picked up on the Scottish accent. Having travelled the world with his shipping business, Maurice was quick to draw him into a long conversation about the various British colonies. After a few hours and several glasses of whiskey the talk turned to family.

“My wife came to live in England all the way from Australia. Weeks on a ship to set foot in London to be out in an established society for a few years. Of course, once we married she came back to Boston with me instead. She’s gone now sadly, but we have a daughter Isobel. She’s been a great asset in running our household. Wonderful wonderful girl.”

Rhys knew from the relations he was residing with that the French’s owned a respectable business. They were related to the Locksleys as well as to several other established Boston society families. A tie to that family would be good for long term business as well as for his immediate problem.

“You are a lucky man to have a daughter so close to home. My son Bailey lives in London and as a father I wish would take up closer to me. ”

“Yes yes. Family is a gift” Maurice French took up yet another glass of whiskey and drank it back in one gulp. “She’s a lovely sweet girl and the apple of my eye. To smart and bookish for a woman, but still a lovely girl. I thought she would be married by now, but at 25 she appears to be heading toward spinsterhood. It’s wonderful having her as close as she is, but a well placed marriage would have suited the family well. ”

Rhys nodded his head while sipping his own glass. He knew what it meant for a unmarried 25 year old society woman in Boston to be described as lovely, smart, and bookish. Clearly she must be homely and almost as round as Maurice. No risk of anyone getting the wrong idea, and hopefully she would be someone that he could build a good working relationship with. He would much rather be married to a woman he could talk to, who was capable of running the manor without his guidance, and have as a companion as opposed to some beautiful vapid know nothing who only cared about shopping. Beauty was all well and good, but Rhys preferred practical brains over a pretty face. He had seen what a pretty face could hide.

Picturing his Great Aunt Agatha in her youth, Rhys had been pleased to hear that he would be seeing Maurice French again at the meeting at Robin Locksley’s home. Apparently Locksley’s young son had been quite ill, but was mending. Setting everything else aside, Rhys was privately glad for them. He knew the fear of losing a loved one to illness all too well. If he intended to court Miss French, it would be good for him to have her father’s approval as well.

The meeting had ended up being a terrible bore. Eric Prince was there as well and droned on for nearly an hour about the fear of the union’s and Gompers men causing troubles in Boston. Rhys was returning after finding a water closet to relieve himself and to calm his temper from Prince referring to his employees as ‘urban scum’, when he had rounded the corner into one of the maids. Instinct had him reaching out to grab her arm to keep her from falling, but the girl had a cup of tea in her hand that splashed all over the both of them before the it hit the floor.

Closing his eyes in frustration as he realized that she had just ruined his favorite waistcoat, he heard her rushed apology. He wouldn’t yell at her or get her in trouble with the master of the house, but why wasn’t the girl looking where she was going.

“I would expect one of the Locksley house maids to be a bit more careful with where they are going dearie.”

He had been surprised and horrified to open his eyes to see the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. This was no mere maid. She was wearing a pretty blue dress that somehow perfectly matched the color of her eyes. Her beautiful chestnut hair was piled upon the top of her head in the latest style, but there was one errant curl that hung next to her face. She was petite, and yet her figure was still quite pleasing. He found himself wishing that he could reach out and tuck that curl behind her ear. Then he realized that this must be the stunningly beautiful Regina Locksley that he had heard so much about. He had his hand on another man’s wife. He dropped her elbow immediately.

He apologized and as he had bent down to pick up the items she had dropped, she had laughed. The laugh was full of mirth and sweetness, and he felt his heart beat quicker at the sound. And then he realized what she had said.

“I am not Mrs. Locksley, but in fact her cousin. Miss Isobel French.”

This was the overly clever spinster that Maurice French had drunkenly described? This stunning beauty before him with her kind eyes and sweet laugh was Isobel French? How was a woman like this unmarried? What would a woman such as herself ever seen in a man like him? He felt a twinge of sadness knowing that someone like that could never want to be with him without some ulterior motive. A woman who had her choice of any suitor that she wanted would never simply seek someone out for position or power. Isobel French would clearly buck society and either marry for love or not marry at all. Nervous, he found himself speaking with that formal tone he had learned in school.

“Ah, yes Miss French. I am familiar with your father from the club. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“It was a interesting one to make. Apparently I am either a maid or the lady of the house.”

She had laughed that laugh of hers again. Was she teasing him? He did have his eyes closed after all, and who else would be walking about the house with tea? Milah had always demanded that the servants bring her her tea in her rooms, and would never have dreamed of walking about with her own cup. And if he had ever even remotely referred to her as a servant? Heads would have rolled.

“You have also neglected to introduce yourself as you go barreling down hallways.”

He smirked at her facetiously commanding tone. “One does not generally go about planning on introducing themselves to servants Miss French. I am Lord Gold of Carlyle.”

“Oh are we calling me a servant again? And here I thought we had reached a understanding.”

What he wouldn’t give to reach an understanding with her. Wait, where had that thought come from? He realized that her book was still in his hand, and he handed it back while muttering more apologies. He was intrigued to hear that she was more concerned about the state of its pages rather than the state of her dress. Milah would have been screaming to the high heavens if he had ever ruined one of her frocks. He suddenly pictured Belle walking down the hallways of his home back in Scotland. Carrying Dickens through the hallways and filing it with laughter. Kissing him on the cheek as she brought him tea.

Distracted, he remembered that she was still talking about his waist coat. Frowning at it, he wondered if it would able to be repaired. Or where that newest little fantasy about her had come from. He needed to remember his manners in front of her and bring her a new drink.

“That Miss French is a excellent suggestion. I will go and speak to Mr. Locksley now. The staff should bring you a new cup of tea and clean up the mess. This cup appears to be chipped during our..” The first word that came to mind was collision. A picture flashed through his mind of their bodies pressed together as he kissed her, and he found himself blushing. Was he really that shallow? Had he learned nothing from his past mistakes? A sweet smile, a pretty face, and a easy conversation and he was already back to dreaming about a new life. “our ah...initial meeting.”

 Good, hopefully that wouldn’t give himself away. And now they were talking about something as mundane as tea Yes, nearly all the tea in Boston was awful. He found it easy to speak to her, and she seemed refreshingly amused by the conversation. He was just a man talking to a woman. A woman who was offering to send him a private letter with tea rooms in Boston.

“Although I will admit that I am loathe to share that information who has such a poor view of the Boston Tea Party. Perhaps you are here to take something away from us colonies again.”

Yes, he wanted to take Isobel French away from the colonies and back home to Scotland. He felt the panic coming up in his throat at the thought. That twinkle in her eyes and easy nature had made him forget this was all supposed to be part of some grand plan. He was not worthy of this kind of attention. He had to get away from her.

Excusing himself quickly, he didn’t fail to see that her face had fallen slightly at his brusque exit. Here she was kindly offering to send personal notes to a visitor and he had walked out of the hall as fast as his bad ankle would take him. He didn’t remember until he reached into his jacket pocket at home that he had meant to hand the damaged tea cup to the servants.

As he stared at the cup running his finger over the chipped edge, and against his better judgement, he decided to get Miss French a new copy of Bleak House. It seemed only fair.  
________________________________________________________________

After that, the next few months had all passed in a blur. Seeing her at Lady Jenkins ball. Conversations out on the veranda debating which Dickens novel was his best work. Her boldly inviting him to a meeting at a tea room in North Boston with her and her maid as a chaperone. Every conversation he found himself falling more and more in love with her. Not for the pretty face, but for the mind and the woman underneath. He tried to talk to other women he knew were considered more suitable, but in the end he always came back to talk to her. He kept trying to tell himself that was all a distraction, but his heart couldn’t seem to stay away from Belle French.

Her father had been right. She was clever. Smart. Witty. Not to mention kind, practical, and stubborn. She was so much more than a pretty face. Far from finding her to bookish for her own good, he found it to be one of the most charming parts of her personality. She had a diverse range of knowledge of business, society, and politics. She had rather scandalous opinion on the rights of women voting. He was shocked to realize that instead of finding his own sarcastic and brooding nature off putting, that she seemed to revel in being treated as an equal. He wanted to hear her opinions, even if they differed from his own. Every time she laughed or disagreed with him, every time she challenged his ideas, every time he stood in front of her he had forgotten what the ‘plan’ was.

He was used to women who would play games to get what they wanted, but Belle was without guile. She said what she thought, and her beautiful face was a open book. She was generous to a fault with everyone around her even if she wouldn’t benefit from it. From the serving woman at the tea room to sitting with Ariel Triton when Eric Prince decided to ignore her for an entire evening. All Rhys wanted was to love her and to have her love him in return.

He had been himself more with her than with any other person since his first wife. Still in his fear he had still kept some things secret from her. There were nights when he returned to his own quarters after yet more lively banter and several cups of tea, and he would feel the guilt wash over him. Bailey. Milah. The state of the manor. All of these horrible truths would come back to haunt him in the quiet hours of morning. He would vow each time to tell her everything, and in the harsh light of day would keep silent. He was a coward after all, and he didn’t want to see that expressive face turn to disdain.

Even as he stood in front of her with his mother’s ring he knew in his heart he was starting off this new chapter in his life by not being completely honest. But he wanted her by his side.

He had been shocked when she had accepted him. And threw her arms around him laughing with joy. He had to tell her what was truly in his heart at least once.

“I love you Belle. I love you so much. You’ve made me the happiest man on earth. ”

“Oh Rhys. I love you to.” And as he had softly placed his lips upon hers for the first time, he hoped she meant it just as much as he did. He tried to memorize the sweet touch of her mouth, the way her waist felt beneath his fingers, that faint scent of orange blossoms, the feel of her hands at his neck. The time would come when she would grow to hate him. Everyone except Bailey hated him in the end.  
________________________________________________________________  
They had only been engaged for two weeks when it had all unraveled. Because of Killian Jones. Again.

Maurice French was beyond pleased about his daughter finally being engaged as he had quietly supported their entire unconventional courtship. Once Belle had accepted him, Maurice had made the announcement in all of the papers: the French family would be marrying into nobility! There was to be an engagement party where the official society announcement would be made.

The night of the party Belle had looked stunning in a pale yellow gown with elegant gloves, with a necklace of stunning diamonds around her slim neck and a matching set twinkling on her ears. He had been wearing white tie and tails for the occasion, even though he found the outfit uncomfortable. Traditionally there would have been a dance with the newly engaged couple, but with his ankle that had been out of the question. Both of them had been pleased to sit and welcome congratulations.

Maurice had proudly told everyone the news while clapping him on the back, and the lads from the club had all taken him to the smoking room to have a celebratory cigar. Rhys still felt like a imposter with all of these very wealthy and connected men. They all worried about their petty dealings, business arrangements and mistresses that Rhys had never felt at ease with any of them.

Upon returning to the main room, he had seen his fiancee standing next to the punch bowl talking to the last person he had expected to see. Killian Jones. Jones who had been the cause of so much heartbreak and agony 20 years ago. In the aftermath of everything he had forgotten that Jones had come to America. And his Belle was smiling at him. Laughing her laugh with him.

He felt his hand gripping his cane so tightly, he was surprised the metal handle didn’t melt in his grip. Of course, Jones had always been a charmer with his good looks and dashing manners. They weren’t even married yet and history appeared to be repeating itself. His woman being wooed by the man that he had always thought of as a pirate.

He couldn’t stand here and watch this. Not again. He turned out of the room suddenly desperate for fresh air.

He had still been fuming when she had joined him a few minutes later to tell him that Jones had told her everything. That Lord Gold was impoverished, reclusive, and he disliked women. That he had been married before and had driven his first wife away. That he was only marrying her because she was a heiress.

“Please tell me it isn’t true Rhys. Please tell me that Mr. Jones is lying.”

There had been tears in her eyes as she had pleaded with him. Begged him to tell her that it what she had heard wasn’t the truth. His face hardened in anger.

“You wouldn’t be out here accusing me if some part of you didn’t believe Mr. Jones dearie. Clearly his fine manners have made an impression. Or perhaps it is his pretty face? You women are always moved by a pretty face. ” he spat out bitterly.

“You’re angry. Why are you angry?”

“I would have thought that was obvious. It is rather uncouth to be flirting with another man at your own engagement party. Only to repeat that conversation to your fiancee.” He wasn’t just frustrated at her being in Jones’ presence, it was the guilt of everything he had kept secret from her. It was all going to come crashing down around him, and he knew that Jones must have planned to drop his bombshell at the most opportune moment.

“Why are you speaking like this? You’ve never spoken to me about manners and being uncouth before. Mr. Jones said he has known you for years. I just want the truth. I just want to hear that this can’t be why you wanted to be with me.”

“Well which is it dearie? Do you want the truth or do you want to hear what an impoverished reclusive Lord that hates women wants you to hear? Yes, I choose to marry you because your father will provide me with a handsome sum. I do not see why this would be upsetting. You chose to marry me because your father wishes to have a link to the nobility, and you still want to flirt with other men. Do not act as if you are the wronged party here.”

As her flung her accusation back in her face, he knew that his words would hurt. She staggered back as if he had slapped her. Good. She may have said that she loved him, but she was going to take the word of that pirate at face value. For all of their time together, all of the respect he had shown her, and all it had taken was a conversation with Jones to have her come out doubting him. He stared coldly at her, forcing himself to not be moved by her tears.

“Come now dearie. Surely you didn’t actually think yourself in love with me. You certainly never fooled me in that respect. I am not so foolish as to think anyone could ever have such feelings for me. ”

He knew deep down that he was lashing out based on hurt and jealousy. But he had to protect his own heart. He had let her get to close already. Belle was gasping for breath, and openly crying now. Her face was turning puffy and her nose was red.

“Rhys….Please…. I do love you...Just please..”

“I believe Lord Gold is more appropriate considering our new understanding about our relationship don’t you?”

She had let out a sob, but she still straightened herself up to her full height to try and face him.

“You are not the man I thought you were.”

And she had run from the balcony. When his temper had cooled the next day, he knew he had to go to her and grovel at her feet. To swallow his pride and tell her the truth. The entire truth. Yes, he loved her. Had always loved her. His head had just gotten crowded with guilt and Jones and the past and her. That he had wanted to find a heiress, but he had found love instead. He would give her the world if she could just forgive him.

When he had called on the house that afternoon, the doorman told him that Miss French had taken ill. This continued for several days. Just when he had been about to break down the door to throw himself at her mercy and make sure she was alright, Maurice had brought him into his study and confessed that she had run from home the morning after the party.

He knew that he had crushed her heart during their last conversation. Running from everything she knew in the middle of November had taken real spirit and pride. Even in his worry and anger, Rhys could admire that about his beloved.

The fact remained, her loving him again was out of the question. And he only had himself to blame.

________________________________________________________________

The car pulled up the long driveway to the house. After a long journey, they had finally arrived. Rhys allowed Dove to assist him out of the car, but then proceeded to slowly move up the stairs. The cold and the time traveling had made his ankle stiff and uncomfortable. Dove ran back down to grab a lantern so they could see more clearly. Rhys glanced toward the windows to see if there were any lights. Maurice had mentioned there were gas lights in the house, but it didn’t appear as if any of them were on.

Rhys smirked despite himself. Clever girl. If she was here, she would know that the light would draw attention to the house. It must have been quite uncomfortable, but he knew Belle would choose concealment over ease of getting around the house.

Darkness had fallen and the wind was picking up speed. Maurice had given him the keys, but the front door was stuck. He tried banging on it, but nothing moved.

“Dove! Some assistance please.” Dove set the lantern down on the porch, and together they had worked to jostle and push the door open with a bang. Limping in, his eyes adjusted to the light. Standing in the foyer wrapped in a blanket was Belle. She looked as if she were about to pass out.

She was safe. She was alive. And he was about to crush her poor heart a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind, the French family would be wealthy to own one of the automobiles that were in production in the early 1900's. There still would have been a fair number of wagons and horse drawn vehicles on the roads still-especially in rural areas. While the Ford Model T didn't start production until 1907, there were a couple of other cars out by winter 1903. I picture the car that Dove is driving as being a 12 horsepower Sunbeam with a Capecart hood or a Lohner- Porsche Mixte.  
> http://www.historywebsite.co.uk/Museum/Transport/Cars/Sunbeam/1903car2.jpg  
> http://www.hybrid-vehicle.org/images/small-1903-lohner-porsche.jpg
> 
> Belle's hair would be up in the Gibson style-although I don't imagine Gold would know the name of the hairstyle other than knowing it was popular.  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gibson_Girl


	3. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle has some questions for Gold now that he is in Maine.

As the wind swirled around them, Belle and Rhys met one another gaze. He immediately noticed her face was thinner than the last time they had met. 

“Madame.”

His tone, as frigid as the weather, sent a chill down her spine. Debating her options for a brief moment she considered running. With his poor ankle he wouldn’t be able to chase her far, and his valet Dove would never go after a lady. She could run upstairs but she would be trapped and the situation would remain the same. She could run out into the back gardens, but where would she go? She didn’t even have shoes on. Her teeth began to chatter. No, the time for running had past, it was time for bravery. She was still angry and upset and needed answers. By hook or by crook, she would get the truth. 

“Lord Gold.” Not waiting for an answer, she moved to go back to the great room. 

“I’m glad to see you haven’t frozen to death.” She saw that he in fact had followed her and stood in the doorway. His face and tone showed no emotion, but his eyes focused on her with a concerned precision.

“Good thing too, or else you have to find yourself another heiress.”

His brow furrowed as he coolly appraised her response. “Perhaps. But there is only one that has been out in the cold for the last 6 weeks.” 

He limped over to turn on the various gas lamps. He saw her exhaustion even more clearly than in the foyer. She wasn’t just thinner, but clearly hadn’t been sleeping well. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her once lovely chestnut curls were in a sloppy braid. She looked much older than her 25 years in that moment. He felt his mouth tighten.

“You should sit down.”

“You cannot force me to go back with you.”

His shoulders tightened at her harsh tone as he opened up the last lamp on the wall. 

“Certainly not in this weather dearie. If you could save the shouting until after we are a bit warmer. It is already cold and the temperature is only going to fall further. It will be well below freezing soon. In the meantime you should sit down. It will be easier if I don’t have to stand guard to keep you from swooning”

She hated being called dearie. She had long realized he only said it when he was stressed or annoyed but it still felt condescending. 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do. No one decides my life but me.”

A shadow she did not comprehend clouded his expression. “I said sit down. You may have a suicide wish, but I do not share it. You are barely able to stand. You look like you haven’t eaten in days. Sitting is for your own good.”

She remained where she was, with the blanket wrapped around her as if she were a queen draped in her robes. She could sense his frustration clearly, but she instinctually knew that he wouldn’t force her into a seated position. 

“Do not think to tell me what is for my own good Lord Gold. Of course you would resort to commands and demands.”

Her blue eyes never wavered from his, and Rhys felt the familiar clench of guilt and love in his heart. As he continued to gaze at her in a silent battle of wills, he was taken aback at how much sadness he saw in those beautiful blue eyes. Anger he knew how to respond to, but this grief of hers would overwhelm him if he wasn’t strong.

“Would you please sit down while I make this fire? I’m not telling you, I’m asking you.” He paused for a beat. “Please.”

His voice remained hard, but she could see the pleading look in his eyes. Neither of them moved for another moment, when she finally relented and sat. This debate over whether she stood or sat was not the hill she was going to die on. Her back remained ramrod straight and she pulled at several blankets that she had been using to keep warm around her legs.

Nodding his head he softly noted, “Thank you.”

Avoiding her accusing gaze, he turned toward the fireplace and bent over to begin picking through the wood box. It was somewhat difficult getting down because of his ankle being stiff with cold, but if he didn’t get a fire started they would all be in for a very long cold night. Soon he was stacking twigs and small bits of wood in the fireplace. The tension in the room grew thick while he reached into his coat pocket for matches. 

“If you are going to drag me back to Boston kicking and screaming, I think an honest discussion is only fair.”

He made no move to respond instead silently reaching over and placing several logs on top of the kindling once it took. Belle stared at the side of his head while he started the fire. If she had known it was so easy to do, she would have attempted it herself. For a moment she was taken in by the way the gas lights and the fire danced across his face. He looked tired. Searching for her must have been exhausting. She felt the strong urge to go to him and tell him again that she had loved him that if could just explain that she could forgive him, but then she shook her head. No. He was only concerned about her because he wanted her fortune. She wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. 

As the logs fully caught fire, he struggled to rise and then sat in the furthest wingback chair from her. She felt herself thoroughly prepared for the fight, as she had been rehearsing what she would say to him for weeks now. She would not back down. As she opened her mouth to renew her questions, he put his hand up and interrupted her.

“Before we start, I will apologize for my harsh words the last time we spoke. You were merely clarifying a rumor, and my reaction was unfair.”

Her jaw dropped in shock and her rigid posture immediately slacked. Well that certainly wasn’t how she expected this to begin. His tone and words that night had hurt her, even more than she was willing to admit. She was surprised that he recognized her feelings let alone apologize for the transgression. 

“You look like you haven’t eaten in days. Dove is a fairly decent cook. He’ll try and start the fire in the kitchens, and then hopefully we’ll have some soup.”

She couldn’t think of any remark to make about that either, as soup sounded wonderful. She had expected to come in and shout at her again like he had on the balcony. To grab her by the arm and drag her from the room. Instead he was building fires, having Dove make soup, and seemed to be giving her as much space as he could. She had built him up to be this horrible lying person for the past six weeks, that she had forgotten that he had these kind moments underneath his formal facade as well. The tense silence between them stretched out into what felt like an eternity. 

“After unloading the car and preparing supper, Mr. Dove will go into town for more supplies. It appears you may need another coat.” 

When she made no move to reply he continued. “You may continue to ignore me if it pleases you.” Leaning back in his chair he began to gaze at the fire. 

The only sound in the room was the crackling of the burning logs. After several long minutes Belle let out a deep sigh of frustration. 

“Do you not intend to explain your actions in any way? Were you so intent on your goal that you never thought about my feelings?”

He careful surveyed her face. “Frankly, I didn’t think it was something that would be an issue. Men of position and titles often look for women of the same rank. It did cross my mind as to how you would take it but as I said, I didn’t believe it would be an overwhelming issue. It wouldn’t have changed anything.” 

“Wouldn’t have changed anything?!” She really wanted to find something to throw at him. A pillow wouldn’t cut it, maybe one of the vases on the mantle? “It would have changed everything! It means everything about our courtship was a lie!” More than the shouting and the cruel accusations from their engagement party, Belle hated this blasé dismissal of her feelings on the matter. 

They were getting down to brass tacks. Rhys knew he had to at least be truthful about why he had courted her. In spite of everything, he had never lied to her about who he was as a person, and he couldn’t bear having her think she had been deceived in every conversation. He just had to do it without collapsing to his knees and professing his undying love. He doubted that she would believe him. He twisted his fingers together and looked up at her with a stern face as he told her the honest truth. 

“Was it? What about it was a lie? I am no great actor or charmer. As Mr. Jones said, I am a Scottish recluse. I do not tolerate boring conversations and silly wastrels-I appreciated your wit and your mind. If you had not proved to be a worthy companion and conversationalist, I would not have bothered courting you. It would not have been worth my time to merely line my pockets. Your status only brought you to my attention, the rest of it was as it seemed. It changed nothing.” 

She was still fuming. She was loathe to admit it, as much as she had wallowed in frustration and anger the past few weeks, but she knew deep down he was speaking the truth in that regard at least. She wasn’t naive, and was well aware that society expected marriage to be one of practicality. It had simply never crossed her mind that he subscribed to that line of thinking when initially looking for a wife. 

She was very much aware that Rhys Gold did not suffer fools gladly. She had heard him mutter annoyed utterances whenever he had to be in the same room as Eric Prince. Belle wasn’t fond of him because of how he dragged Ariel along, but Rhys described him as ‘the most entitled person without a title I’ve ever met.’ With the exception of herself and her cousin Regina, nearly every society matron she knew had found themselves on the receiving end of a sarcastic quip. She had listened to him make a caustic remark when Regina’s sister Zelena had interrupted their discussion about the second Boer War, to insist that she and Regina needed his opinion on with European cities were worth visiting on a Grand tour. “Any town that panders to those that think themselves cultured for having one novel a year and diverse because they once spoke to an immigrant shopkeeper in New York will suit you just fine dearie. If you don’t mind, Miss French and I were having a private conversation.” Even in regards to her own father, he had responded coolly whenever Maurice made a joke that she was far too smart for a woman. 

Hot tears began to spill down her cheeks. “When you proposed you said that you loved me.” 

Her voice had dropped to a mere whisper. It didn’t matter if he had respected and appreciated her for who she was as a person if he had never cared. A distant but respectful relationship hurt just as much as if it had all been a well-planned ruse after all.

“Yes well...there are many different kinds of love my dear. I was caught up in moment. I do care for you, just perhaps not in the way that you dreamed. I can say Mr. Jones lied about that at least.” His face contorted with rage as she looked up at him with tears clouding her vision. “I do not despise women. You may think me a monster, but I am not that much of a beast. I am not that unfeeling.” He respected smart, strong, unselfish women, especially the one before him.  
The pressure around her torso was getting to be too much. It was difficult to breathe and she tried to hold in the tears and process what she had heard. 

As they remained in silence while Belle wiped her face, Rhys’ valet Mr. Dove entered. “Begging your pardon Miss Belle. Lord Gold. I’ve unloaded the supplies, and have soup on. Dinner should be served shortly. I’ve prepared the fires in the dining room, and the bedrooms as you requested Lord Gold.”

“Thank you Mr. Dove. We shall be along shortly.”

Dove glanced at Belle’s tear stained face, back to Rhys and quickly left the room.

Rhys released his grip on his cane and leaned back into the chair. “Is there anything else you wish to ask of me madam?” Unable to form words, she shook her head in reply.

“Well then. I had planned to start the return journey to Boston tonight, but we will have to wait until morning. Since Dove has seen to the sleeping quarters, there is no need for you to sleep on this settee for another night.” At her puzzled expression he continued with a sardonic smile. “I didn’t think you had brought down all of the blankets and the pillow just for today. Dove insisted we bring firewood and I’m assuming he found more in the wood boxes and in the cellar.”

Tapping into all her strength, Belle pulled herself together. He must still be planning to marry her, and that could not happen now. 

“Please feel free return to Boston whenever you like. There is no question of us being married now. You have seen that I am safe. If you let my father know where I am I am sure he will send for me.” 

He huffed in frustration at mention of her father. “Did it escape your notice that I had keys to the front door? Your father was the one who guessed that you would come here dearie, and he is well aware of where you are. And I am not going to drag you out as if you are a suitcase or a sack of potatoes.” He pushed his hair back out of his face as he continued, “I am also not going to leave you here to freeze to death.”

Needing to escape looking at him any longer, she went to warm herself by the fire. Basking in its heat, she hoped it would warm the chill in her heart. “If what you say is true, and my father knows where I am, than I am sure he will be willing to pay you for your effort. He will help me break this off.” 

She continued to stare at the burning logs. She may have had good reason to hate him for these past few weeks, but she knew that her heart still belonged to Lord Gold. It wouldn’t have hurt if it hadn’t mattered. She loved him, but couldn’t bear being married to him if he didn’t love her back in the same way. 

“When I marry it will be for love. Just….go. Go away and leave me here.” As she continued to gaze at the fire, she missed seeing his face momentarily crumble at her words. 

“It’s too late for that.” 

His words had a despairing finality, so that a tingling sense of foreboding premonition shot through her. She began to fear what that meant. Could her father have…. surely not the worst case scenario. But no. He might have been in a towering temper, but her father would never do that.

“Of course it’s not too late! You are not bound to do anything. I am not going to marry you. If you were the last person on this earth and I needed to marry you to save the human race I would not marry you.” She was trying so very hard to be brave, but she couldn’t stop the tears streaming down her face. His face paled and yet remained cold and impassive.

“Let us stop with the dramatics dearie. I am sorry for not being forthright from the start. But I am growing tired of your accusations. I have not murdered anyone. It is very common for an heiress to marry into a title, just as it is common for a nobleman to seek an heiress. Practical marriages happen every day.” 

She felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her again as her knees buckled and she nearly fell over. So there it was. Delivered without heat or anger, but a resigned tone. He didn’t love her. 

Gazing at her face and closed eyes he felt as if he could see her heart breaking. He sighed, “Do you really intend to fight me until the bitter end?”

Her eyes opened with a flash. “Yes. Nor do you see. You may have that title, but you are no gentleman. You are a coward Lord Gold. You have played with my heart and I cannot…” she was barely able to choke out the words as she felt the tears come back into her throat. “I cannot forgive you.”

“It is a good thing I do not need your forgiveness then. But we can have a successful union if we just reach an understanding.”

“No. Lord Gold, if my fleeing did not release you from our engagement, than I release you of it now. Yes, announcements have been made, but you would be free to return back to Scotland without me.” She spoke more quickly as she saw that he was going to try and interrupt her again. That sense of tingling sense of fear was getting stronger.

“Belle.”  
She failed to take notice that he spoke her first name desperately for the first time tonight as she started to pace. “You can leave me behind. There is no reason for me to go with you. Yes, my reputation will be in ruins, but I do not care so much for my reputation.”

“Belle.” His voice went up in volume.  
“I will not be able to be out in society, but that is a small price to pay for my own choices. Now that he is aware of how much I object, my father will not force me to marry you against my will. My father loves me.”

“BELLE!”  
“WHAT!”

She stopped pacing to cover her mouth in shock. She had never yelled like that at anyone before. He looked frustrated at having to shout in order to be heard, but that quickly faded and she knew what he was going to say before it left his mouth.

“Leaving you behind is not an option. To say your father had a poor reaction to your disappearance is putting it mildly.”

He hesitated, staring and then it all came out in a sigh. “Belle, we were married by proxy last week. Your cousin Regina stood up for you.”

And just like that night on the balcony, it felt like her heart was being crushed in her chest. She felt her knees give out and she fell back into the closest chair. “So...so..you...you mean to say that….”

“Yes. We are already married. We are already man and wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah I need a beta. This started out at one chapter, ended up as another, and then got split into two.  
> While incandescent bulbs started to replace gas lamps around 1901-1902, I imagine that Belle’s father would have kept the gas lamps in the summer house for a few years past the norm.  
> Down in the kitchen, a pandora antique cookstove http://www.woodstoves.on.ca/images/stove-front2.gif  
> Proxy marriages (when one or both parties are represented by another) had their height in the middle ages. Mary Tudor married Philip of Spain via marriage by proxy.  
> According to my research most US states made marriage by proxy for most people illegal around 1910-1920 (depending on the state). It is still legal for active duty military in most US states and several other countries around the world (e.g Italy and Israel) with some paperwork and proof of identity if one member is deployed. In the United States, proxy marriages are provided for in law or by customary practice in Texas, Colorado, Kansas, Montana, and Alabama. Of these, Montana is the only state that allows double-proxy marriage.  
> There are also several countries that have general proxy by marriage, and there is a ongoing debate as to whether to recognize these marriages for immigration purposes.


	4. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what happened in the French house weeks ago.

Not for the first or the last time, Rhys found himself loathing Maurice French.

How did it happen that in a sea of bad choices, marrying him was the best option?

She had gone white as a sheet. If she hadn’t already been sitting, he would have been afraid that he would have to catch her when she swooned.

“My father.  Regina.  We’re married. I’m married to you.”

She appeared to be in shock, and Rhys had no idea what to say to her. So much for his plans of throwing himself at her feet.  But the situation had changed since that day he had entered her father’s house weeks ago, and she clearly was not in any state to listen to anything he had to say.  If he told her that he had married her because he loved her she would most likely spit in his face, and he would deserve it.

“Yes.”  
  
As she started to sob uncontrollably, he wished he could comfort her.  Hold her and tell her it was all going to be okay.    
  
She shot up suddenly. “I…I can’t be in here right now. I can’t…” Looking stricken, she fled the room.   
  
He did not follow her, respecting her need for space.  Instead he moved about the room looking for some whiskey.  Knowing Maurice as he did, there would be at least one bottle in the house.  
  
What he really needed right now was a drink.

_________

 

It had been bad enough during their courtship whenever Maurice made some kind of veiled insult about Belle’s opinions.  Then there were the constant ‘jokes’ that Belle was too smart for her own good. The fact that he appeared to care more about family position and scandal in the wake of his own daughter’s disappearance disgusted Rhys.  So much for all of Maurice’s talk of being a family man.    
  
The morning after the party, he had first been worried that his daughter had simply eloped with her fiancé. Of course it would a minor scandal, but one that could be spun into a romantic story. That had only lasted for as long as it took him to find that his safe was empty and her note explaining why she had run.  Then his worry had turned to fury at her embarrassing the family name.   He had told all of the servants that she had taken ill after the party and given them time off, paid off her maid Ruby to keep silent, and had discreetly contacted his niece Regina. He had hoped to find her on his own before Rhys was ever aware that she was missing, but once Rhys had started showing up every day he had finally confessed.  
  
“I have no idea what she was thinking but she’s run off!  She’s not at her cousin’s or any of her friends.  She stole from me and must be hiding in Boston somewhere,” Maurice shouted.  
  
Rhys would have been lying if he said he was surprised. He had behaved like a monster the night of their engagement party.    
  
“I’m afraid it was my fault.  We had a rather large argument this night of the par..”  
  
“Yes yes she said all of that in her note. I don’t care whose fault it was!  She’s the one who is going to humiliate me!  Your engagement has been announced in all the papers!  I stood up in front of over a hundred people and told everyone how proud I was of her!  You can always go back to Scotland, but our family name will never recover. We will work together and you will simply have to marry her.  We can tell everyone you eloped; that is at least a romantic story.”  
  
He knew that Maurice had been drinking all morning, but this reaction was abhorrent.  
  
“Mr. French, I am not going to marry your daughter against her will.  I’m afraid we had different expectations going into our courtship, I was looking for a practical match and she…”  
  
“Let me guess, she was shocked that anyone would ever marry anyone for status or position and would only marry for love.  Her mother taught her that crock of nonsense and she’s never let go of it.  As if I would have married her mother if she hadn’t come from one of the richest families in the world.  Beautiful woman but a hopeless romantic.  Always talked about how we had made a love match instead of her being the biggest society catch that season.  Always reading her books and off playing with Belle. ”  
  
Lord Gold raised one eyebrow with disdain.  Before now, Maurice had always described his wife as being the great love of his life, the one woman he had cherished over all others.  It appeared as the chance of being shut out of society was showing his true colors.  Barely noticing him, Maurice had continued to rant angrily.  
  
“I should have nipped this nonsense in the bud ages ago.  She had a suitor before from LeGume family!  Gaston LeGume!  And she couldn’t marry him because ‘he’s not smart enough papa’ and ‘he treats me like a trophy papa’. Since she was so young, I humored her. Well this time the girl’s gone too far.  I always thought it was dangerous for a mere woman to try and be so sure of herself, and now she will be the ruin of us all.”  
  
This was absurd.  Rhys found himself standing darkly in front of Maurice’s desk. “I would remind you again dearie, that technically as far as society is concerned your daughter is still my fiancée. And that her intelligence is not a weakness but an asset.  You will not speak of her this way.” He pulled down on his waistcoat in frustration. “Do you expect to drag your adult daughter down the aisle?  I will seek her out, and I will bring her safely home to you.”

“This is no longer her home.”

Rhys froze.  For one fleeting second he hoped he had misheard.  French wouldn’t dare cast out his daughter out forever for this.  He and Bailey had not always gotten along, but he would never ever dream of selling his boy out.  Never.

“If you think I’m going to allow you to cast your daughter out on the street….”

Maurice has puffed out a bitter laugh.  “Threatening me will do you no good Gold.  I won’t have to do that.  There are other ways around the matter.”  He went to pour himself a large glass of whiskey. “I’m well aware of your financial situation.  It never bothered me as you are a gentleman, the Gold family is well connected, and having a spinster daughter married off to a Lord would be a coup.”  He gulped his whiskey down and poured another.

“I propose a deal.  As she is my daughter, I will make it worth your while if you agree to marry her.  I will provide funds for her and will triple her dowry.”  French stood up to search for another bottle of whiskey waiving idly.    “As long as you do not return to this house before or after your marriage.  This is not her home any longer and she is no longer welcome here.  She is as good as dead to me.”

A violent thrashing would be too good for the man.  Struggling to keep his temper under control, Rhys responded coldly. “You would sacrifice your daughter on the altar of your good name.”

This was the worst thing he had ever heard a father say about their child.   Who tried to make a grown child do things against her will?  Banished them as if they had died?  Belle was a person with her own thoughts and desires.  He had never for one moment intended to force her to marry him.  He had planned on begging for forgiveness, even if he had never expected it to work.  He had planned on providing her with an easy out based on his reputation around town for being a caustic brute.  He didn’t give two shakes for his own image.  If he let the right gossips know that his fortune was not as grand as society had been led to believe, then no one would blame the French family for calling off the engagement.  Belle would be seen as escaping a poor marriage.  He would return to Scotland and find another way to gain funds.  This entire folly would be forgotten and Belle could go on and live her life and be happy.

The fact that Maurice threw out Belle and her free will as if it never mattered infuriated him.  She was a modern woman, years ahead of her time even. He hoped she never learned of her father’s words.  She just wanted to be happy.  Happy and loved.  What she had done was true to her independent spirit and showed just how much he had hurt her.

“Wouldn’t any father do the same?  She made her choice.  The family name and connections are more important that some old maid.  I would think you would agree to such an advantageous deal Lord Gold.”

If Maurice had been facing him instead of his liquor cabinet he would have seen the attack coming.  As he wasn’t he was shocked to find himself spun around with Rhys’ cane pressed up against his neck. “What is wrong with you man!?  This is your child you are speaking about!  Your child.  Not some object that has worn out its usefulness.”

Maurice choked and sputtered.  Rhys pressed harder “I could choke the life out of you and no one would blame me.”

Maurice started to turn purple, and started to pull on the cane. Rhys was tempted to continue, but he needed his help to locate his daughter.  Reluctantly, he released him.

Coughing, Maurice stumbled back to his chair.  “You are a mad man.  How can you defend that harlot?  Even if you bring her back, she will be ruined.  If you objected so much to marrying her you could have just said so.”

Rhys went to stand away from Maurice as the man had continued to rant about his daughter being a fallen woman and how the streets would prove that to her as soon as they could.  His own primary concern was that Belle was safe.  He knew that he could use every connection his family had to pressure Maurice into welcoming his daughter back with open arms.  He could convince him to pay off servants, buy off whispers.  The man had so much pride in his good name, but he could make life so difficult for Maurice French that his good name would be the least of his worries.

But what would happen when she came home?  What kind of life would she be coming back to?  Within these four walls, her father would break Belle’s spirit.  This was a man who had said he would rather have his daughter dead that lose his good name.  Those sly comments would become shouts, and she would have no one to protect her.  Her father would use the threat of exposure to control her, to punish her.  He didn’t doubt that French would resort to physical violence at some point.  She would never be able to leave the house.  Never be able to slip quietly away to tea shops.  He would take all of her books away.  If she somehow managed to not give in to her despair, her spirit would wither into nothing until her father forced her to marry whatever proper society man could keep her under control and locked up as well.  Maurice would let her husband know how to keep his daughter in line.

He could not allow that to happen.  He could not abandon her to that kind of life, as it was no life at all. She needed a home, not a prison.  He could only come up with one solution and would have to trick Maurice into going along with it, even if it made him physically ill. 

He turned back to Maurice with ice running through his veins. “I apologize for my loss of temper dearie.  But it appears sir, that you have a problem and I am the only decent solution.  You could always ship her off to a convent somewhere of course, although I suppose society would still be scandalized.  And what would that do to your precious reputation.”  Leaning on his cane casually as if he didn’t have a concern in the word he continued, “So I propose a new deal.”  The words left his mouth without any emotion or feeling.

Maurice paused in his ranting to glare at him. His face was still blotchy with whiskey and anger.  “Let me guess, you’ll want more money.”

Rhys felt his hands tighten on his cane. Everyone described him as a beast, but Maurice’s willingness to sell his own daughter was the actions of a real monster.

“No dearie.  You keep your money.  I will marry her with the dowry she is entitled to and nothing more.  The deal is that we will come back to Boston once before leaving….”

“I do not want that girl in my house ever again.”

Rhys decided that unemotional bargaining wasn’t going to be effective after all.  He stalked over as Maurice leaned back in fear at the dangerous expression on his face.

“We will come back to Boston once before leaving for Scotland, and you will act like the loving father your daughter has always thought you to be.  We will be married in your front parlor.  You will write her loving letters from home for the next few years.  You will leave your entire estate to her upon your death.  You will never ever ever mention to your daughter that ‘she was as good as dead to you.’  You will never breathe a word of her actions or mine to a living soul.  Not even a joke with the lads down at the club, and nowhere around town.  You will allow her to keep her reputation intact.”

“All that?  And what do I get in return?”

“Well for one, I won’t choke you to death and then burn this house down around you.”  He was pleased to see that Maurice had turned pale.  “I’m sure that if you heard the stories about my financial state that you heard about what happened to my wife?”

Maurice’s jaw dropped.  “What are you saying?”

His face turned into an evil smirk, and he let Maurice see the beast within clearly for the first time.

“I am saying that even with those rumors Maurice that I am still walking around the cream of Boston society.  Do not doubt for one moment what I could do to you if you don’t agree or if you don’t play your part to my satisfaction.  I have enough power and family connections to ruin more than your good name.  You would be a beggar on the streets in rags and no one would look twice at you.  In return I will never bring your daughter back to Boston in your lifetime.  I will never tell her what you have said here and allow her to believe that you are still a loving father.  Belle will be seen as a heroine to the women of Boston, not damaged goods.”

“It sounds like I am getting the better end of this deal.”

Rhys moved away, as he could tell by Maurice’s tone that he was going to agree.  As always, Maurice French made everything about him.  “You might think so.  If it is your intention to marry your daughter off to me, I would rather not have a wife that thinks her family has disowned her.”

“Why would you do all of this?  She’s made a fool of you just as much as me.  She already hates you; this won’t make her change her mind.”

Rhys straightened his tie and pulled on his cuff links to hide his shaking hands.  He knew full well what this meant for him.  But better for her to hate him than to know about her father’s true feelings.  

“I am already thought of as a beast so this is about more than what one woman thinks of me.  One dead wife and one fiancée fleeing and I would never be able to marry again. Also as you stated,” he felt the bile come up in the back of his throat has he spit out the lie, “her dowry is extensive.”

Maurice stared at his with narrowed eyes, and then gave a drunken grin.

“I always knew you weren’t as open minded as you seemed Gold, but I had no idea.  Fine, I accept your terms.  I will contact my solicitor; it is still legally possible to have a wedding by proxy. Announcements have been made, the community was formally told at an event, and I am her legal guardian.  As far at the law is concerned she has consented.  We can convince her cousin to stand up for her.  Regina can be discreet.”

He hated bargaining for Belle as if she was a piece of livestock.  “I hardly think you’ll be able to convince your daughter that you forgive her if you do that.”

“There will be no difference to her between doing it this way and forcing her to marry you in my home. I’ll blame it on my temper and be repentant afterwards.  She has a forgiving heart, she’ll forgive anything. She won’t be able to create a scene, and the servants will never know and be able to spread it around town.  She’s stubborn like her mother, and you’ll need leverage to bring her back if that is your actual intention.  You’re also more likely to get help from strangers.  A man looking for his lost wife will have more success than a fiancée.”

Rhys searched his mind for any other way to help Belle, and couldn’t think of one.  As always, he knew Maurice French didn’t truly understand his daughter. Belle might have a truly kind and forgiving heart, but she would never forgive him for what he was about to do.  He would never be able to forgive himself, but he had been married to a woman that had loathed him before.  This time he at least had happy memories to look back on, and the love and adoration in his own heart. 

First she thought he only courted her for money, and now he and her father were about to betray her trust again.  She may have loved him once, but he would never again hear her say those words to him.  But he could be perfectly content with her hatred if he meant he got to have her in his life and if she thought her father loved her.

Almost perfectly content.

“Fine. Just remember that this deal is for forever dearie.”

Maurice French grinned with pleasure.  His problem had been solved.

“Deal. Now let me tell you where I think she might have gone.”

__________

Back at the house in Maine, Rhys threw his whiskey tumbler across the room in a rage.  He had won her and yet lost everything that mattered.

Upstairs, Belle heard the glass shatter through her sobs and buried her head further into her pillow.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this version of Maurice what many would think of as horrible person and father. His reaction is very much of the time though, there were several similar scandals in the Edwardian era with parents cutting of children (particular women) Money could fix many things, but only if one was willing to fight.  
> http://www.edwardianpromenade.com/scandal/society-and-scandal-in-edwardian-england/
> 
> I'm also going to take a mini-break from this story for a few weeks-I need to get my secret santa story written and I keep moving it to the back burner. Chapters 5 and 6 are outlined though, so I'll come back to it soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoying reading about the changes taking place globally at the turn of the 20th century. However for the sake of my sanity, I've taken some liberties with historical accuracy in Edwardian society, speaking, and fashion. Belle and Gold always seem to make up their own rules anyway.


End file.
